


Pretty Baby

by Jtargaryen18 (snowqueen79), snowqueen79



Category: The Iceman (2012)
Genre: Assassins, Chloroform, Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hitmen, Kidnapping, Poisoning, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25836676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueen79/pseuds/Jtargaryen18, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueen79/pseuds/snowqueen79
Summary: A mark’s daughter is in the wrong place at the right time for Mr. Freezy…
Relationships: Mr. Freezy (The Iceman)/Reader, Robert Pronge/Reader, Robert Pronge/You
Comments: 26
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark story so if you’re not about that, don’t read it and traumatize yourself, okay? Bad language, hitmen, assassination, death by cyanide poisoning. chloroform, kidnapping, non-con intentions, disposing of bodies, general creepiness..

“What are you doing here?” Richie Kuklinski hissed at him as he approached the car parked next to his at the shopping center.

Robert Pronge smirked at his partner from his Nova. “Nice family.”

“Yeah, don’t look at my family,” Richie shot back.

Robert held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just an observation.”

Yeah, he’d knocked up Regina a few years ago. They’d married, fought, divorced. Now he couldn’t stand her. But he couldn’t deny the kid was his son as much as he tried to at first. Looked just like him. And his son was a good kid. How he came from him and his cunt mother? Who knew?

But fucking random people and having an accident wasn’t the same as Richie’s family situation, was it?

Richie’s wife was petite with dark hair, his daughters little angels in their plaid school uniforms. Three little dolls. How the hell did Richie have kids that looked like that? A fucking mystery.

Speaking of mysteries, how did Richie get a wife like that to begin with? He wasn’t the best-looking guy. Pop some bolts on his neck, he could be fucking Frankenstein.

But the ice-cold man had good taste. Robert liked them smaller too. He wouldn’t mind having someone like that. Regina was strung out on coke half the time, wore too much makeup. She looked like a whore. Since they’d divorced, she was a whore. The damn kid was up his ass half the time because of it.

Now that he thought about it, Robert brought in plenty of cash these days. He couldn’t jerk off in porno theaters for the rest of his life.

He could have nice house in the suburbs, a little wife. Maybe another kid. Eventually.

The idea of the submissive little wife waiting at home every night, keeping a clean, neat house? Ready to fuck him when and how he wanted? He liked that idea. Maybe.

“You ready?” Richie asked him as he climbed in his Cadillac.

Robert was always ready. He discreetly left the cyanide, the pictures in the front seat of Richie’s car. They were taking out a moron who’d tried to fuck the Gambinos in a drug deal. Stupid asshole should have known better…

Robert followed Richie to the man’s house on the edge of the city. Another nice house in suburbs. The intel they’d gotten said the man lived alone. Robert was the lookout, parking further down the street at a house where there were seven other vehicles. He watched as Richie pulled his car up along the curb not far from the guy’s house and popped the hood.

Their mark opened the door, peering out to see what was going on so late in the evening. Richie looked up, waved. The man closed his front door again.

Everything was going according to plan so far.

Richie walked up to the house, he needed to use someone’s phone because he broke down. That was the story. 

Reluctantly, the man made his final mistake. He let Richie in the house. Done deal. One spritz and he’d be dead. It was almost sunset, so all he had to do was come back with the ice cream truck once the sun went down, grab the body, and tuck it in the freezer to process.

Richie rushed back to the car, luckily no one was out in their yards right now. Robert pulled his car up behind him, maintaining the ruse. They talked for a minute, pretending to futz with something under the hood. Then it appeared all was fixed, and they drove off.

Dropping him off to get the ice cream truck, Richie drove off and Robert went to clean up the job.

Robert lucked out. There was a vacant house on the street behind the dead man’s. It was almost too easy. He entered the house, wrapped up the body, and got ready to haul his heavy ass out the back door.

That was when he heard it. A whimpering sound. Like a child or a small animal.

Fuck. Was someone else in the house?

When he jerked open the door to the pantry, he found her in a ball on the floor. Shaking like a leaf. A kid? Where the hell had she come from? The fucker was supposed to live alone.

Crouching next to her, he grabbed a fist full of her hair and pulled her head back to get a good look at her.

Well, hello.

Not a kid. No. A young woman in her twenties. Dragging her out of the pantry, he threw on the kitchen light to get a good look at her.

Just hints of makeup on her pretty face, her hair shiny and long. She had a good body, demurely covered by the pretty blue dress she wore. She wasn’t even half his size.

Robert grinned. He couldn’t help it.

Here she was as if she’d been conjured by his earlier thoughts. A pretty baby caught in a scumbag’s world, all alone and unprotected. He could just see her sitting in a church, in a college class.

On his lap…

Deciding he might as well give it a try since the opportunity presented itself, he smirked at her. The look of terror on her face just spoke to something primal in him, made him hard.

“D-did you kill my father?” her voice was barely above a whisper. He liked that too.

Daughter, huh? So much for living alone.

“Nope.” It wasn’t a lie. “I’m just here to play clean up.”

Those big eyes got even wider.

Carefully, Robert released her but stayed close, in her personal space. She smelled like flowers, gentle and sweet.

“Are you… going to kill me?”

“I could,” he explained. “Normally, I would. But I’m thinking I could just… keep you.”

Her lips parted and he could almost hear her heart pounding from where he stood.

“If I keep you,” he said slowly, “you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Keep me?” She asked in confusion.

Robert chuckled. “Not like you have a lot of options, huh? You can be dead with your father or go with me. Which is it?”

The first tear slid down one cheek while her hands twisted in front of her. She was visibly shaking, her gaze darting back and forth between him and father’s plastic-wrapped body. Robert couldn’t lie, he enjoyed having that affect on people. This was the part where he normally put them out of their misery.

Instead, he couldn’t help but imagine her like this, shaking and scared, beneath him. Stripped bare, all that smooth, soft skin his to mark up and touch.

Leaning in, he ran his nose along the gentle curve of her neck, loving how she jerked in fear because she had no idea what he was going to do.

“Which is it?” he purred low in her ear, enjoying how she shuddered. He wanted to make her do that again with her hot little snatch wrapped around his dick.

It was a long minute, but she finally said, “I’ll go.”

“Remember you agreed to it,” he told her as he pulled out a handkerchief and a small vial. Just a few drops would do.

It was easy to grab her, press the cloth to her nose and mouth. She went down in seconds. He loaded her into the truck before her father.

***

Richie called him later at his house. “You get it done?”

“Of course,” he told him, listening to the soft sobbing coming from the inside of his guestroom. It probably wasn’t loud enough for Richie to hear but it did have him grinning.

“There might be a problem,” Richie went on.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, there’s a daughter. Just came to stay with him for the summer from college,” Richie went on.”I never saw her.”

“Taken care of,” Robert told him.

“What?”

Oh, he knew Richard would hate that. Richard and his fucking high-and-mighty I-don’t-kill-women-and-children bullshit.

“I took care of the girl. It’s done.”

“Fucker,” Richie growled, slamming down the pay phone.

Robert chuckled as he hung up his own phone. Richie would assume, like their client, that he’d killed her. He had to wonder what Richie would think of what he really did with her. Well, what he planned to do anyway.

Adjusting himself within his jeans, fuck he was hard, Robert blew out a plume of cigarette smoke and thought about what a fun night he had ahead of him.

Might as well get his little pretty baby broken in.


	2. Chapter 2

_Beautiful mood board by Imanuglywombat_

What had you done to deserve _this_?

Your heart thundered in your chest as you realized just what a bad turn your life had just taken.

Your mother had passed away at the end of your first year at the small women’s college in upstate New York. Your father introduced himself to you at her funeral. You had known _of_ him but had never met him. You knew he’d sent money for you to your mother over the years.

When he’d told you that you could stay at his house for the summer, you’d taken him up on the offer. You thought it might be a way to get to know him, especially with your mother gone. It would also help with money so you could stay in school.

You’d been at your father’s house for maybe a week when you realized what a big mistake you’d made.

Your father was a drug dealer. Worse, he was a user too, so he was careless. The first night you’d had a spaghetti dinner he’d made and there had been some red flags in that first true conversation. Yeah. the house was worn down and your father had a rather crude sense of humor, but you hadn’t minded that. You’d give him a chance.

The hookers he’d had over that night? The two of them and your father had kept you up until four in the morning. You could only imagine what was going on because you hadn’t had sex at this point in your life. It had you thinking that maybe you should have just sucked it up, worked a couple of jobs, and lived in a crappy apartment for the summer like your friends.

You heard _him_ talking in the next room, and it temporarily pulled you out of your memories, and your heart slammed in fear. _Was he on the phone?_

If you’d gone with your gut, maybe then you wouldn’t be handcuffed to a bed by the seriously scary man on the phone in the next room.

You’d managed to hide when the one man came to your house to use the phone. You’d been in the kitchen when your father grumbled about “some idiot who had broken down” on his street. Ironically, you were writing a letter for your father at the time. You were going to catch him out and leave the letter for him. You’d catch a bus and head back to the college.

When the knock on the door happened? Well, considering the hookers and shady types who had been in and out of your father’s house all week? You hid like a scared rabbit in the pantry with your notebook and pen.

Through the crack in the door, you saw the man. He was tall, a head taller than your father, with dark hair and colder eyes. You just knew he was there to kill him. You didn’t see _how_ he did it. You just knew he was going to do it.

And he did.

You’d darted out of the pantry the minute the man left, checking your father for a pulse. There was none. But how he died wasn’t obvious. Your father hadn’t been shot or stabbed. His throat wasn’t slashed, his neck wasn’t broken.

You’d been terrified, wondering what to do. Did you call the police? And if you did and told them the truth, would whoever killed your father come after _you_?

Apparently, you sat there for a while because someone’s heavy tread thumped outside the kitchen door and you shot back into the pantry.

The second man? He came to collect your father. He was taller, younger, and hairy. His shoulders were wide, his arms heavily muscled. You’d watched in horror as he wrapped your father up in plastic and prepared to drag him away.

That was when the reality of the situation hit you. You had to get out of there. You had to get back to your friends. _Tonight._

Only you never made it. No, you were in a strange house somewhere, you had no idea where. The man had knocked you out. Your right hand was handcuffed to the cheap brass headboard of the double bed you rested on.

The bedroom you were in was plain with off-white walls, dingy from neglect with cobwebs in the corners. No curtains hung on the windows and one of them was cracked. The shag rug on the floor was worn and dirty. There was a small bedside table with rings stained onto its surface and a cheap lamp with a bare bulb and no shade on it for light.

Your heart leaped into your throat when the door to your room swung open and _he_ walked in.

_If I keep you, you going to be a good girl for me?_

With your wrist chained to one bed post, your curled yourself into a ball next to it, watching as he walked around to your side of the bed, carrying the notebook you’d been writing in when your nightmare began.

The bed dipped when he sat down on the edge of the mattress at your feet. His eyes were blue behind those enormous wire-framed glasses, his face framed by long waves of dark hair. He wore a mutton chop beard. All of it combined to obscure his face. And it wasn’t an unattractive face if you looked closely.

You were afraid to look _too_ closely. You were all too afraid you knew what he wanted and that you wouldn’t survive. You knew your only chance was to convince him to let you go.

Angling his shoulders toward you, they were broad, he grinned holding up the red notebook. The color flashed in your eyes like a warning.

“This yours?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy.

You swallowed hard, nodded.

Smirking, he opened the front cover and began to read.

“Dear Dad,” he began. “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. And I wanted to say thank you for offering me a place to stay this summer. But I decided it would probably be best for me to head back to the city, find a job for the summer, and study for the fall.”

Those intense eyes lifted from the page, his gaze locking with yours. You waited on him to say something, to do something. He just stared at you and your heart sped up, beating harder and faster.

When he went back to your letter, there wasn’t much left, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad we’ve had the chance to talk. If you’re ever in the city, I’d love to see you. Lots of love…” The man blew out an exhale before speaking your name.

Flipping through the pages of the notebook, he didn’t find anything else. At that point, he tossed the wire-bound book on the floor and regarded you carefully.

“You were just going to cut out on your old man,” he said baldly. “Is that it?”

“No.” _Yes._ Somehow you found your voice to speak. “I didn’t… want to be a… burden to him. And I do need to study…”

It sounded like a weak excuse, even to your own ears.

“Study, huh?” He scooted closer, his denim-covered thigh brushing the bottoms of your bare feet. “You have a boyfriend waiting or something?”

You shook your head quickly in denial. No. You’d been on a handful of dates, but no boyfriend.

“So you didn’t care how he felt about that?” he pressed on. “Doesn’t matter now. He’s dead. But I’m curious.”

Tears burned your eyes and you tried to blink them back.

“I barely knew him,” you explained. “I didn’t m-meet him until my mother’s funeral a few weeks ago.”

Dark brows rose in question above the frames of his glasses. “You’d never met him?”

You shook your head. “He sent money for me but…”

“What did you think when you met him?”

Why did this man want to know what you thought about your father?

“H-he was nice to me,” you offered.

“Nice, huh?” He shook his head, one hand sliding up to trace a finger along your instep. You jerked your foot away. “What did you think of the call girls he got high with each night?”

Despite your efforts, tears were beginning to spill from your eyes.

“It’s… was h-his business,” you told him. “It didn’t matter what I thought.”

His hand slid over your barefoot now, rough from hard work.

“You ever been around a drug dealer before?” he wanted to know. “A whore?”

You shook your head.

“But your mother had boyfriends, right?”

That hand massaged your foot, his fingers toying with your toes.

“No,” you replied. “We… we’re Catholic. He wouldn’t… sign the divorce papers. She was still married to him so she… she didn’t see anyone else. The church doesn’t allow it… It was just me and her.”

The man’s grin widened. He looked like the cat that ate the canary. With a firm grip on your ankle, he pulled your foot into his lap, playing with it.

“You’ve got… the cutest little feet,” he said idly. “Even toes, nice nails. Not many people have nice feet like these. Not even women.”

Leaning down, he brushed a wet kiss over the top of that foot, and you froze when his tongue touched your skin. It was unfamiliar enough that you were afraid to do anything about it.

“So, pretty baby,” he said in a teasing voice that just inspired more fear in you. “You didn’t really have a man in your life, did you?”

You shook your head. “It was just me and Mom. And she’s gone. If… if you let me go, I promise I won’t say anything to anyone. I don’t even have a lot of friends… I’ll just go back and…”

The amusement in his expression only increased. Lines formed around his eyes as he smiled.

“What did I tell you was gonna happen, huh?” Holding your ankle in one hand, the other slid up your calf to the back of your knee. “I’m going to keep you…” His fingers brushed the back of your knee and you jerked in his grip. “Never had a real good girl before.”

Leaning in closer, he made you feel crammed against the bedpost. “You’re a real good girl, aren’t you?”

_Oh, God._ You were afraid to answer that. But you couldn’t bear the way he was staring you down, so you nodded.

“You ever fucked before?”

You stared at him with wide eyes and he laughed which only heightened your anxiety. “That’s a no… You ever _kissed_ anyone?”

That answer was likely obvious too and it only seemed to delight him.

“Never had a virgin,” he told you. “Even when I was one.”

With a firm grip on your leg, he pulled you closer to him. You bottom pressed to his hip now and tried to curl in on yourself. Your right arm pulled above your head in the handcuffs, the metal biting into your wrist.

“Mister, please,” you begged. “Please… let me go home.”

When you planted your left hand on his chest trying to hold him back, he grabbed that wrist and pressed it against the mattress next to your head. His other hand plucked his glasses off, tossing them onto the bedside table.

“I’m Robert,” he told you, his nose brushing yours as his heavy body pressed yours into the mattress. “You’re going to call me that. I’m not your Daddy…” His lips brushed yours, his tongue swiping your lower lip. “I’m not into that sir shit either…” Another kiss and it felt so odd with his mustache and beard against your face. “A good little wife calls her husband by name.”

Good little _wife?_

You struggled to free your hands, but it did you little good. Robert held you easily.

With his free hand he reached under you to find the tab on your dress’s zipper and pulled it down. You muttered no against his lips, but it only gave him the opening to slide his tongue in your mouth. His kiss was deep, demanding but it didn’t hurt. You didn’t know how to return his kiss, so you let him take what he wanted, compliant until you felt his fingers working the hooks at the back of your bra.

You fought him then, trying to squirm away, trying to kick him. He chuckled as his lips moved across your face to your throat, his teeth nipping a little at the tender flesh he found there.

Just as quickly, he rose above you, grabbing the neckline of your dress and pulling it down along with your strapless bra. The spaghetti strap of your dress on your right side popped free, breaking since that arm was restrained.

You gyrated like crazy, doing everything you could to keep him from pulling it off with your hands out of play. It was all too easy for him. He was just too strong. When you were bare beneath him except for your sheer white panties, he made a growling sound as his greedy gaze roamed over you.

You were mortified. You couldn’t cover your breasts, you couldn’t hide anything with your hands caught and your lower body pinned under his weight.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his left hand skimming up your body with a delicacy you wouldn’t think he’d possess. He palmed a breast, gently squeezing it, testing its weight. “No scars. Sheltered life, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t look at him. No one had ever seen you like this.

You cried out in surprise when you felt his mouth cover the same breast. Robert moaned as he pulled the little point of your nipple into his mouth, his tongue tracing circles all around it. The bristle of his beard scraped sensitive skin, making your shudder and burn in humiliation. He took his time, his greedy mouth working both of your breasts while weakly tried to free yourself, to mentally distance yourself from what was happening to you.

“Hey.”

“Ouch!”

Robert had pinched your thigh hard and it hurt. Your gaze met his and you saw those blue eyes lit up in anger.

“Eyes on me,” he told you meaningfully. He pressed his lips to your ribs just below one breast. “Your full attention on me. Or you’ll pay for it.”

Swallowing nervously, you watched in horror as he chained wet presses of his lips over your tummy, over your covered mound. Your entire body clenched up, but he kept going, brushing kisses down over your thighs to your knees.

What was he doing?

Trembling like a leaf below him, all you could do was watch as he made his way to your feet, pulling one up and pressing kisses over the top, down to your toes. When he sucked your toes into his mouth and you felt his tongue rolling around them, you started from the unfamiliar sensation. It was odd, it was uncomfortable and yet…

No. No, it doesn’t feel good. _No._

Robert spent long moments teasing your foot with his mouth before slowly moving back up to your ankle, his tongue and facial hair a wicked tease that had you squirming more despite yourself. His lips trailed back up the inside your knee, your thigh. When he just pressed his face into your covered womanhood, you full-on trembled.

When he hooked a long finger around the crotch of your panties and pulled them out of the way, your entire body tensed. Using powerful arms to wedge himself between your thighs despite your struggles, Robert smirked up at you.

“Stop,” he sounded more annoyed than angry. “You’ll like this part… Unless you want me to go in dry.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. You knew what he meant to do. You couldn’t look. You couldn’t —

Sharp pain at your thigh and you stared as you realized that he bit the tender flesh of your inner thigh.

“What did I say?” he demanded,

“I’m sorry,” you managed, your voice low and shaking.

“No, what the fuck did I tell you to do, huh?” he demanded even as a rough finger slid through your lower, intimate lips.

“To keep…m-my eyes on… you,” you recited.

“That’s right,” he muttered lowering his head and you watched him press his face into your private flesh, rubbing the tip of his nose along the center of your pleasure in a way that had you squirming in his hold.

When he pressed his mouth into you, the feel of his lips and tongue, the tickle of his hair over your thighs and tummy, had you shaking more, fighting to keep still. He moaned into you, a muffled sound and it sent a delicate vibration through your lower body, causing your heart to quicken.

When you felt the quick flutter of his tongue against the pearl that had only ever known your touch, your hips jerked. One heavy hand reached up and violently grabbed the top of your panties, ripping them off. It returned to press over your abdomen, holding you down. The fluttering continued, filling you with shame, making you feel restless and… A foreign craving built within you as he kept going, grinding his face into an embarrassing amount of wetness as his tongue kept moving in crazy fast patterns.

You expelled a puff of breath, twisting in his grip. Finally, you didn’t think you could take it anymore, you tried to push him away with your left hand. Pressing the heel to his forehead. Robert ignored you, his tongue sliding down to the tight entrance he meant to breach.

When the point of his tongue started darting in that entrance, you decided to try harder, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling, not hard enough to hurt you hoped but enough to get his attention.

Your heart clenched in hope when he stopped.

“Harder,” he muttered.

You just stared at him. Did you misunderstand?

“Pull harder,” he told you before diving back in, doubling his efforts.

And you did, but you were trying to get him to stop, to take his mouth off you. You pulled his hair, fought against his grip. Tears stung the backs of your eyes in humiliation because even as embarrassed as you were, you felt a delicate ache building, a sweet pressure that was taking your breath away.

You knew from masturbation what an orgasm felt like. Good as those solo performances were, the pleasure he was forcibly building within you was beyond anything you’d experienced so far. You didn’t want to enjoy it. You wanted him to stop.

Didn’t you?

When he started fucking you with his tongue determinedly, you were in tears, pulling at his hair so hard you were surprised it wasn’t coming out in your hands.

“Please,” you begged. “Please… stop.”

When you felt a rough finger push into your untried channel you sucked in a breath. You felt it sliding in and out of you, felt his tongue continue to flick against your clit.

“Please,” you pleaded.

“Gonna bring you off,” he muttered against you. “You’ll thank me later.”

“What?”

The pad of his finger found a space deep within you and brushed it. You froze.

“There?” he asked, his hot breath pelting your wet flesh as that finger curled, hitting that space again in a way that took your breath, had you crying out in the room as your body pulsed in a powerful wave of pleasure that you hadn’t asked for. He kept moving that finger, the movement subtle but devastating, and you tried to pull him bald, thrashing on the bed as he used his tongue to make it worse, to keep it going.

When the spasms died down and you were left panting on the bed, you watched as he sat up, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He unbuttoned the striped shirt he wore, pulling it off to reveal his upper body, heavily muscled and his chest lightly covered with light brown hair. His breath came fast as he rose from the bed to shed his jeans and underwear, the entire time his heated gaze roamed over your body in greed.

Like the rest of him, his cock was big and it was swollen. You knew a moment’s panic. No way that was going to work. He saw where your attention went and took himself in hand, smooth strokes up and down. His grin was crooked and filled with ill intent.

“Time to get you opened up,” he told you, climbing over you on the bed.

Robert wasted no time in slotting himself between your thighs, lowering himself over you. You focused on your breathing. It was going to happen, and you could only imagine it would hurt worse if you fought him.

_Breathe. In and out._

He was heavy and hot over you, positioning himself to spear into you with a firm hand. Instinctively, you parted your legs further, just hoping when this was over, he wasn’t going to kill you. If you could just live…

It stretched and burned as he pushed into you. When he reached your barrier, he lifted his gaze to yours. Some manic delight lit up his blue eyes.

“There it is,” he muttered. “Mine for the taking.”

Collaring both wrists in strong hands, he dropped more of his weight on you and then he pushed through the veil of your innocence fast and hard, pushing in to the hilt in one powerful thrust. You sucked in a breath at the pain, biting your lip until you tasted the coppery tint of your blood.

Robert was rotating his hips subtly, grinding into you slowly. When he spotted the blood on your lip, his mouth sealed over yours. His tongue tried to draw yours into his dance, but you still didn’t know the steps. You just held still, hoping it would be over soon. Hoping…

_Breathe, in and out._

It was almost as if he moved in time with your breathing. The sting was horrible when he began to pull out of you and push back in. His body was taut above yours, muscles flexing as he worked over you.

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing,” he told you, his dark hair hanging around his face as he fucked you. “Not… gonna be able to last long… Jesus…”

That’s what you wanted to hear. Almost done. Almost…

You kept your gaze on him, breathed. To your dismay, the pain faded, and you felt that same pressure start to build in your core. You clenched around him, your legs came up to cradle his hips.

Robert grinned at you then. “That’s it. You’re getting the hang of it.”

Dropping his left hand, his fingers slid between you. Delicate strokes of his fingers on your clit – how was such a beast of man able to touch _that_ lightly? – until you were right there on the edge, feeling like a bomb about to go off.

“Come on,” Robert leaned down to whisper hotly in your ear, teasing the shell of it with his tongue until you were trembling beneath him. His cock drove into you over and over and the wicked, teasing glide of his fingers was inescapable.

You screamed when you came and you knew he was saying something, cheering you on. But you were lost to the waves of pleasure the rough man above you was imposing. His thrusts came harder, the slight pain bringing you around.

With no warning, he lifted from you, pulling himself free of your channel and stroking himself hard and fast as his come spurted across your belly and thighs. You fought to breathe, keeping your eyes on him. You didn’t miss the blood that covered his cock, his hand.

When he was spent, he slumped on his knees above you, panting. You were afraid to move, just lying there with your heart flying, wondering in growing fear what happened to you now.

Robert reached over to grab his glasses and put them back on, suddenly fascinated with your private flesh and his own.

“You _did_ bleed, didn’t you?” Impersonally, he swiped a finger through your folds, holding it up so you could see it was stained red. “You bled a _lot_.”

_Am I going to bleed more? Are you going to kill me?_

Grabbing his shirt from the floor, he used it to clean you up. Again, he was a lot more careful than you would have expected.

“Your shirt?” Wouldn’t your blood ruin it?

Robert shrugged. “What? I can get blood out of anything.”

That _wasn’t_ something you wanted to hear.

Carefully, you pulled up a little and he wasn’t stopping you. You weren’t able to reach your dress with your wrist cuffed to your distress.

As you watched, he reached for his jeans, pulling out a tiny pair of keys, He reached up and freed you from the handcuff. In the next instant, his hand was around your neck.

“Now, let’s get this out of the way,” he was nose to nose with you. “You live here now. You’re all mine. My little wife.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d used that phrase. You couldn’t begin to understand what was in his head. You did the safest thing you could think of and nodded.

“Until I have you trained, I’m going to keep you secured here in the house,” he explained with an undertone of menace in his voice. “I’ll be generous and give you a nice long leash.”

Leash?

“You ever try to sneak out,” Robert looked you dead in the eye, “or you try to get someone to help you, I’ll kill you. And I’ll kill whoever you pull into it. It’s what I do for a living, okay? I’m good at it… Don’t piss me off.”

You didn’t doubt him.

“Okay,” you muttered.

“Okay, what?”

Your mind scrambled but you finally realized what he wanted you to say, “Okay, Robert.”

That grin. His hand idly slapped your outer thigh.

“Good girl,” he said. “Get dressed. I’ll make us something to eat.”

He pulled on his jeans and sauntered out the bedroom.

Gingerly, you sat up, your lower body aching. You pulled your bra and dress back on. He’d ruined your panties. Stumbling through the room, you spotted the bathroom next door and locked yourself in there. You’d clean yourself up, pull yourself together.

_My little wife._

You blew out a shaky exhale as you took a seat on the toilet lid.

On the sink, was a small vase with tiny white roses. Plucking one out, you held it in your shaking hand.

What were you going to do?


	3. Chapter 3

Robert smiled as he navigated his ice cream truck out of New York City, humming along with the radio as he drove. When the light turned red, he pulled out a Lucky Strike and lit it, taking a nice long drag.

_This little girl is mine…_

He liked the song, turned it up. He _had_ a little girl of his own at home. And tonight? Was going to be so much fun.

Robert brought her presents tonight. Like a good husband.

The sun was just setting when he pulled up in the drive of the little brick ranch house he’d bought for her and he snuffed out his cigarette. His gaze roamed over their home. He was honestly pleased with all the progress she’d made. Sure, he hired a kid from down the street to come take care of the lawn. She was nowhere near ready to be outside the house. Not yet.

But the windows were all fixed with new glass. Colorful, frilly curtains lit them up to make the house look cheerful. Cozy.

Soft like her.

Carefully grabbing the shopping bag and the bowling bag from the passenger seat, Robert climbed down from the truck and headed for the front door. The smell of dinner hit him as soon as he walked in and he took a big whiff. He was late tonight but everything still smelled amazing.

Stashing her gifts in the coat closet, he headed for the kitchen.

There she was working at the stove, her hair tied back. The yellow dress draped softly over her curves and her feet were bare just the way he liked. Curls of smoke rose from the steaming pots before her and it was fucking hot in there. Perspiration dotted the skin at the back of her neck like dewdrops.

Grabbing her about the waist, Robert pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, tasting the salty drops on her skin. She froze in his grip, her body tight as a bow string and he grinned.

“What’s for supper?” he asked, sliding his hands up to cover the swells of her breasts, giving them a squeeze.

“Pot roast,” she said quietly. “With some vegetables and au gratin potatoes.”

“I have time to get a shower?”

She nodded, meek as a mouse. Sliding his hands back down to her hips, he turned her around to face him. She wore just a hint of makeup, her hair looked nice. The locket he brought her last week hung between her breasts, the kitchen light winking off its dull gold surface.

“Welcome me home properly, baby,” he said glancing down at her.

She moved in closer, her hands sliding up the shirt he wore when he sold ice cream. Her lips were a gentle press against his, soft and careful.

Robert smiled against her lips. She was the perfect little wife.

He took a quick shower while she finished dinner. It was all served and waiting for him when he walked into the dining room and took a seat across from her. Now that she was done cooking, she’d taken down her hair, unfolded her napkin to place it in her lap.

“What did you do today, baby?” He asked as dug into his meal, appreciating what a good cook his girl was.

“Well, I finished painting the guest room,” she replied. “I just have the trim left to finish… I can show it to you after dinner.”

Robert smiled, enjoying the excellent pot roast she’d made for their dinner. “Not tonight, baby. I brought you presents.”

“Presents?”

Curiosity had those big eyes on him. He couldn’t wait for her to see them. It was all he could do to make himself stay at the table and enjoy dinner with her.

“You’ve been a good girl lately,” he explained. “I thought that earned you a couple of gifts.”

Nodding, she dropped her gaze. “Thank you, Robert.”

Grabbing the paper from where she’d placed it by his plate, he casually skimmed over the day’s news. His mind wasn’t retaining any of it. And she did what she always did and ate quietly while he read.

Robert hadn’t been lying when he said she’d been good. Now she was _too_ good. As angry as her small acts of rebellion had made him at first, she now did what he wanted to the letter like there was no fight left in her.

And that was funny. Now he _missed_ her fighting him, her fear. The sex was so much better when her anxiety level was high.

Yeah, sometimes he’d sabotage her to give himself a reason to punish her. Spanking was her favorite punishment. Her little cunt got so wet when he turned fired her ass up, letting him know that it really worked on her. He enjoyed watching her sit gingerly in the days following. He’d bend her over the kitchen table, the couch, whatever he wanted and fuck her raw after those scenes, knowing the pain would enhance her pleasure.

There’d been other things. Edging. Orgasm denial. Once he’d left her in tears, naked and spread eagle on the guest bed after edging her for hours. One time she’d really pissed him off, trying to get out the kitchen door without a stitch on. Well, he’d done one better. He’d tied her to the bed spread out and mounted a vibrator to stay up against her clit for the rest of the night.

The cries and moans coming from the room next door had been so good, he didn’t sleep either. He had to fight himself not to go in there, pull the damn vibe away and ride her until she couldn’t walk. He had jerked off to her though.

Tonight? Tonight would be special. A psychological treat. Robert couldn’t fucking wait.

***

“Baby?”

Taking a deep breath, you glanced up from your plate. Robert sat smirking at you from the other side of the table and you felt a wave of apprehension wash over you.

Most days he drove an ice cream truck, but you knew what he did was nowhere near that innocent. He’d told you he killed people for a living, and you took him at his word. It wasn’t unusual for him to come home with blood splattered on his clothes. He told you from the beginning to put anything you found blood on to the side and he’d do it. You did. You didn’t want to think about whose blood was on each item of stained clothing you found when you were doing the wash.

On an average day, he came home and showered before dinner. He watched TV while you cleaned up the kitchen and put up the leftovers. You joined him in the living room, sitting next to him on the couch until he decided he was ready to go to bed. And it was a rare night that he didn’t expect sex from you.

And you weren’t allowed to just lie there and think of Jesus. No, Robert _made_ you react. He made you do a lot of things.

Tonight? Oh, something was different. You felt an almost manic energy coming off him tonight as he watched you closely.

He said he brought you presents tonight. He did that a lot lately. Dresses and sandals. He didn’t like close-toed shoes. He preferred that you didn’t wear shoes when he was home. The locket you wore, the turntable he’d brought you to play records on. You enjoyed listening to the 45s he brought you now and again. You listened to Kim Carnes, Juice Newton, and Rick Springfield while you worked around the house.

But him saying he brought you presents tonight didn’t feel like that. Wondering what he’d done filled you with dread.

“You remember that conversation we had a couple of weeks ago?” he asked, his blue eyes intent on you from behind those large-framed glasses.

You’d learned the hard way not to pretend you knew what he was talking about unless you were absolutely sure.

“Which conversation?” you asked quietly, not meeting his gaze.

“The one where we talked about your childhood.” You waited as he took a long drink of water. “You growing up without a father figure in your life. How it left you afraid sometimes.”

You remembered the conversation _very_ well. It would have been so much easier to be his prisoner if you’d just been an object to him. His little wife who cooked and cleaned and worked on his house. The little woman who had sex with him on demand. It would have been easier to have been something he could take for granted.

But that wasn’t the case.

Robert wanted to know everything about you. Not that there was a lot to tell.

You’d dropped the wine goblet during communion in elementary school, caught chicken pox and missed the Christmas play in middle school, and got bullied by the most popular girl in your high school. That was as interesting as your life got. Your first year in college hadn’t been so bad aside from losing your beloved mother.

Then, of course, you finally met your father only to have him murdered. Robert had then decided to take you in as his “wife.”

Robert wanted to talk about trauma. He’d made you admit there were times that you’d felt unsafe with just your mother as your protector. He made you thank him for protecting you by showing you how to give him a blow job. And oh, how he loved _that_ little treat.

Finally, you nodded, afraid of where he might be going with this. “I remember, Robert.”

“Good,” he said, his grin wide. “Clean up everything in here and meet me in our bedroom when you’re done. I’ll give you your presents.”

“Thank you,” you told him as sincerely as you could and got to work.

You knew you weren’t getting out of cleaning the kitchen. But you wrapped it up quickly and stopped by the bathroom before you made your way to the bedroom where Robert sprawled across the bed you shared watching some police show on the TV there.

When he sensed your presence, he got up, walking over to the TV to turn it off. His gaze was heated and dirty as he slowly took you in.

There was a gift bag on the bed and a bowling ball bag next to it. Was he going to take you bowling? You weren’t very good at it. You looked to him in question. You didn’t dare move or assume you could go over there and see what you’d gotten.

You weren’t sure you _wanted_ to know.

Robert walked back to the bed, sitting on the edge of it and patting his thighs. You approached him, taking a seat on his lap. His body was hard and heated around yours. Reaching over, he grabbed the gift bag and handed it to you.

“Open your present,” he purred close to your ear, the scratch of his beard on your shoulder as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on your skin there.

“Thank you,” you tried to sound sweet. You dug through the tissue paper filling the little blue bag, finally finding your prize at its bottom. You felt beads. A necklace?

When you pulled it out, you were shocked to find a very familiar-looking rosary clutched in your hand.

_Wait._

“Is this…?” Your gaze moved over the pink-tinted glass beads of the rosary, and you let your fingers skim over each one until you got to the crucifix attached to it. When you turned it in your hand to look at the back, your heart raced to see your name carved crudely into the silver. You’d etched that yourself as a freshman in high school.

It was _your_ rosary, stolen from you in your senior year, just as you were getting ready for confirmation.

Calliope Dennings had stolen it from you and that wasn’t even the worst thing she’d done to you.

“It was yours, right?” Robert’s voice was close to your ear.

“Yes,” you admitted. “It is… Where did you find this?”

You felt him shake around you, quiet laughter. “What was that bitch’s name who took it from you?”

That feeling of dread only got worse.

“Calliope,” you said slowly. “Calliope Dennings.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Pretentious fucking name… Remind me what she did to you?”

You knew he could feel you trembling. You were sitting on his lap. The hard press of him beneath your ass did nothing to lessen your anxiety.

“She bullied me in school,” you said quietly.

“Bullied you,” Robert echoed your words. “It was a little more than that, wasn’t it? She got pissed at you for talking to her Polack boyfriend, right?”

You nodded mutely. You’d told him that already.

“Then _you_ said she caught you after classes in school and she and her friends took your purse, took stuff out of your locker. Roughed you up a bit.”

Again, you nodded, your trembling getting worse.

“I paid the bitch a little visit,” Robert told you boastfully, one arm winding around your waist.

Your hand clutched that rosary. You started reciting the prayers in your mind as you waited for the bomb to drop. And you knew there would be one.

“You said she roughed you up, but you were being noble.” Robert pressed a kiss into your hair. “My noble little wife.”

_What had he done?_

“She didn’t really want to talk to me… at first. But eventually, she got around to telling me her side of the story. And it was _interesting_ , baby.” More kisses pressed to your neck, your jaw. “She said she was afraid her Polack boyfriend wanted a virgin, and you were obviously that, so she decided to scare you off. Said they dragged you into the bathroom by your hair.”

You were already shaking your head in denial. You didn’t want to remember it. You didn’t want to think about it.

“She said that she and her little friends all pissed in the same toilet,” Robert said low in your ear. “And then they shoved your head in there.”

They had.

“Then they beat the shit out you.”

Your heart pounded in dread and fear as images of that day flashed in your mind. You’d had bruises for weeks and had been too afraid to report it. You’d begged your mother to let you drop out of school. She wouldn’t hear of it. Graduation had only been two months later. They had been two of the most miserable months of your life.

“Is that true, baby?”

Your mind spun. Robert had found Calliope? Had gone to see her? She told him what she did to you?

“Yes.” Tears were choking your voice.

“Shhh,” he soothed you, smoothing a hand over your hair while the other arm held onto you. “She can’t hurt you anymore.”

The matter of fact tone of his voice pushed at your escalating fear. What did he mean she _couldn’t_ hurt you anymore? Dark suspicions filled your mind.

Reaching behind him, he grabbed the bowling ball bag and placed it on your lap, knocking the weightless gift bag to the floor. You’d expected it to be heavy, but it was lighter than you thought it would be.

Not wanting to set your rosary to the side, you dropped it around your neck, the crucifix hanging just beneath the golden locket you wore. Your hands shook as you gripped the leather handles of the blue and white bag.

“Open your present, baby,” Robert whispered, nearly vibrating beneath you.

Fear and anxiety had tears filling your eyes. “What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

A tear slid down your cheek, dropping on the leather bag. “I’m afraid,” you admitted.

Robert huffed out an exhale. “The point of all this is to get you over that fear.”

One rough hand grabbed the tab of the zipper and he roughly pulled it from one side to the other.

You froze when you saw the shiny locks of blonde hair. You shook your head, frantically trying to pull free of his grip, to get away from that bag…

“No, you’re going to look at it,” he said forcefully. “I went to a lot of trouble to get you this present. And you’re going to fucking appreciate it.”

His arm tightened around your waist and before you could shove the bag off your lap, he reached in and grabbed that hair, roughly pulling a severed head out.

You screamed then, taking in Calliope’s dead face, her skin already discolored and dotted with dried blood. Robert’s other hand moved up to clamp over your mouth, his hold hard as he held the head up in your field of vision.

“Look at her,” Robert said as if he were showing you a new dress or a pair of shoes. “I did this for _you_.”

Fear and disbelief silenced you. After a moment, he dropped his hand from your mouth, still holding onto you with that arm.

Throwing all your weight against that arm, you managed to free yourself to dash across the room to the door.

“No one’s gonna hurt you now,” he told you meaningfully.

_No one except you._

“This was for you,” he reiterated, smirking at you. He was _enjoying_ this.

You took off running. Tears were blurring your eyes as you made it to the kitchen. Your hands worked frantically at the deadbolt, the chain lock…

_Your fault._ Your fault Calliope was dead. You didn’t want to think about what might have happened to her before he killed her. You just hoped that she was dead when he cut off her head. The jagged line of skin with its ripped flesh had you shrinking in fear.

You’d never be able to expel the sight from your mind.

You got the lock at the doorknob of the kitchen door. Your heart was pounding, your mind was a runaway train. Had Calliope changed in the years since high school? Did she have a family?

Why wasn’t Robert chasing you down?

As if your thoughts conjured him, he came strutting down the hall, his shoulders filling up most of the hallway space. His smirk made your heart drop. Oh, you’d be _paying_ for this.

What the fuck did he expect? He brought you the severed head of a woman you’d gone to high school with. Sure, she’d tortured you. But did she deserve that?

Robert stopped a few feet from you, that intent gaze taking you in.

You left your hand on the doorknob behind you, even as he stood there staring at you, you began to turn it.

“This is the thanks I get?” Robert demanded in way too calm a voice. “You going to run right out of here?”

The knob turned more.

“If you open that door…”

You turned the knob a little more. Your heart felt like it would beat its way out of your ribcage. Could you make it out the door this time? Could you manage to get away?

“Sure you want to try that?” he goaded you.

You sniffled, tears streaking your face. “I have to try. Don’t I?”

He said nothing to that, just folded his huge arms across the wide expanse of his chest.

“One day it might be my head in that bag,” you pointed out, feeling the door give behind you.

It happened in the blink of an eye. You yanked the door open meaning to spin around and dash out of it. The door slammed shut in your face before you got that far and you were roughly flung away from the door, sprawled across the kitchen floor.

Robert was coming at you then but for once, you didn’t cower. You climbed to your feet before he could jerk you up by your hair. Using your hands, you shoved him back by his chest when he persisted.

Now he was full-on grinning at you.

“That’s more like it,” Robert taunted you.

He stalked you, backing you up until you were in the hallway. You tried to dodge around him only to have him catch you about the waist with one powerful arm. Hauling you back against him, he easily carried you back into the bedroom, kicking the door shut as he went.

Calliope’s head was discarded, lying on its side on the floor with its sightless eyes staring the opposite way.

Robert slammed you on the bed and followed you down, only taking the time to pull off his glasses and toss them to the floor behind him. He was all over you with a heavy thigh shoving its way between yours, his hands trying to shackle yours as you fought him.

You knew you wouldn’t win but frustration had you trying. You pounded his upper body with your fists, trying to reach his face, grab his long hair. That he was laughing at your efforts only made you more determined to fight him.

“How did you feel?” Robert demanded, capturing one of your hands while his wide thigh nudged at you through the soft summer dress. “How did seeing her make you feel?”

You were both panting like you’d run a mile. You managed to land a blow upside his head before he grabbed that hand too, pressing it down on the bed.

“Horrified,” you spat at him. “You killed her!”

“Like you didn’t _want_ to.” Hot kisses trailed down your neck and blended with the rough of his beard, the soft tresses of his hair. “You thought a lot about doing that bitch in. Admit it.”

You were getting tired. Frustration at the heat building at your core, the way he was blazing a trail with his mouth down to your chest.

“I… hated her,” you managed. “I’ll admit it. But wanting to kill her? No.”

“Bullshit,” he muttered angrily.

He released one of your hands to grip the front of your dress and rip it down to your thighs, the rending fabric barely making itself heard over the labored rasps of your breathing. More hot kisses smeared across your chest as he ground himself into your tummy now, his weight forcing you into the mattress.

The entire time you hit at him, slapped him one-handed.

Your bra was a weak barrier, he tore that away easily. Roughly he yanked off your rosary and locket. His eyes were wild when his mouth fastened around your nipple, leaving you gasping with your thighs clenched around his. His teeth nipped at the tight peak until you cried out, his hand sliding down your body.

When his rough hand slid into your panties, you were mortified that he found your center hot and slick. Robert lifted his head to grin at you, pulling his fingers free of you before bringing them to his mouth. His gaze never left you, his expression nearly gleeful.

You managed to pull your other hand free and jolted up. The room spun as he caught you by the throat, manhandling you until you were on your hands and knees on the bed. You were facing the window, the same window Calliope’s discarded head faced.

You felt sick and your stomach dropped when you realized what he wanted. One strong hand held you by the back of your neck while the other ripped away what was left of your dress, your panties.

“Fucking little liar,” he hissed. The clink of a belt buckle, the drop of a zipper. You felt him shifting behind you, shoving his jeans down his hips. When you tried to break his hold, his fingers tightened, and he shoved your head down until your chin grazed the bed’s surface. “This got you really worked up, didn’t it?”

No. _No._ Because what kind of person did that make _you_?

Robert wasted no time spearing into you. It only took a few sharp thrusts to split you open, to reach the end of you. One hand tightly gripped your hip, pulling you back onto his cock without any pause. The other hand painfully wrapped itself in your hair, forcing you to face the severed head he’d brought you.

“Keep your eyes on your friend,” Robert’s voice was strained as he started fucking you, his thrusts brutal and fast.

It didn’t hurt. Oh, no. Your inner walls clutched around him, wrapped him in all the wetness your core had gathered in its strange craving. 

_What was wrong with you?_ The situation was sick. The man holding you captive had found your high school tormentor, cut off her head, and brought it to you as a souvenir. That he was fucking the hell out of you and making you look at it didn’t surprise you. Robert was a cold-hearted killer, volatile and depraved.

_What was your excuse?_

Your hands clutched at the comforter tightly as he took your roughly from behind. The slapping of your bodies, his rough grunts, and your cries and moans were a macabre chorus floating around you. Your pussy clamped around him, the way he battered into you satisfying some primal need you didn’t know you had.

Your eyes were riveted to Calliope’s head and you were grateful it wasn’t facing you. Shame blended with lust in your bloodstream, racing through your veins until your core tightened and your thighs trembled in raw need.

What kind of person were you? Were you getting off on this?

Squeezing your eyes shut, you decided to pretend the head wasn’t there. You’d focus on the pleasure whether you wanted to or not.

Robert always made you react to him, made you come until you couldn’t breathe. His grip on your ass was painful, his thrusts greedy and deep.

The orgasm had you crying out, fighting to stay upright. Your scalp burned at the tight grip he had on your hair and your walls fluttered around his driving cock. Wanting more, needing more.

_Just focus on him fucking you._

And even though you faced away from him, he knew. He always fucking knew.

You yelped when his hand struck your ass cheek, the sting sharp. Robert pulled himself out of you before roughly shoving your face down on the bed.

“Open your goddamn eyes,” he hissed right in your ear. “You can tell yourself you don’t want to look at it all you want, pretty baby.” His breath was a hot rush against your skin. Roughly, his cock shoved back into you, his weight holding you down. “But I don’t think… you’ve ever come so hard.”

You shook from the release, unable to stop him as he began thrusting into you again. He was heavy, and the angle of his cock changed as he shifted and ground into you. One hand wrapped around your throat. The other clutched in your hair again, forcing you to look at the prize he brought you.

Robert’s lips moved in a frenzy over your neck and jaw as he continued to fuck you hard. Hot breath fanned across the side of your face as his cock worked in you, so deep you didn’t know if you’d ever be free of him. You felt his gaze on you, verifying you were still staring at Calliope’s head.

“Everybody’s got a darkness in them,” he huffed into your ear. “Even you…”

You tried to say no, to shake your head. His fingers tightened around your neck in warning. His hips pushed harder, hitting your front wall in a way that had you whimpering pitifully.

“She had it coming,” he muttered darkly.

Over and over he hit your spot, making you howl and flail beneath him. Your core tightened in a way that made you feel like you were about to combust. Your cries filled the room as he went at your harder.

“Fuck, baby,” Robert whispered hotly into your ear. “Not going to last with you squeezing my dick like this… “

His punishing rhythm pushed you closer to the edge. His tongue teasing the shell of your ear in a way that your core throbbing was what finished you off.

Robert fucked you through it, only pulling out to paint your ass with his release when you were shaking weakly on the bed beneath him. His shout filled the room and you felt the hot drizzle across your skin until you thought he’d never be spent.

While you fought to breathe, he dropped heavily to the bed next to you. His breath was as harsh as yours. A glance at him showed his eyes were closed, his mouth curved up into a grin that made your blood run cold.

One thing was certain. _He’d_ really gotten off on that.

After several long moments, he pulled himself up. Robert pulled off this shirt and hiked up his jeans, scooping up his glasses after he walked around the bed. He didn’t demand you get up or say anything, merely bending down to brush a kiss over your cheek.

“We can’t keep her here,” he whispered. “She’ll be gone in the morning.”

Your heart clenched in your chest at the thought. You wouldn’t want to keep it. _Never._

Robert strutted towards the kitchen as he always did after sex, returning to bed usually with a bag of Oreos and a tall glass of milk.

You managed to pull your shaking body up from the bed. You fished the yellow scrap that was your dress out of the floor, used it to wipe your ass off. You had to step around that head to get to your dresser for panties and something to sleep in.

You turned around, unable to keep from staring at it.

Memories floated through your mind of that day at the school, the way Calliope and her friends had beaten you, tortured you. Her cold mean eyes held no sympathy, her laugh had been a mocking cackle that you’d never forget.

No, you weren’t happy Robert killed her.

Maybe he killed her for you and that made part of the blame yours. But no tears came for her, no crushing remorse.

Maybe you were a terrible, rotten person at heart, and you were just now figuring that out. Maybe you deserved the hell you lived in now. 

With a deep sigh, you stepped over the head and made your way into the bathroom.

You never saw Robert watching you, smiling in the shadows.


End file.
